


Protect You

by Catherine_Toast



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abragene, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Toast/pseuds/Catherine_Toast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some smut I wrote after Josh McDermitt said he was into Abragene and it got me thinking. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protect You

They're alone. They have been since they got separated from the others during the escape from Terminus. For a week Eugene and Abraham walk nearly without stopping through the unfamiliar Georgia woods looking for a sign, any sign, that maybe they weren't the only ones who had survived. They find none. Exhausted, they come across a shed that seems sturdy, and Abraham easily forces his way inside. Once Abraham deems it safe, Eugene is quick to flop down onto the dilapidated couch half hidden in the mess of junk inside.

“How you holding up?” Abraham asks, after they secure the building for the night and share the little bit of food they have left in their packs.

“I'm running a severe sleep deficit. I'm weak from over-exertion and mildly dehydrated. Although none of this is life threatening, I would strongly suggest our number one priority be sleep, followed by locating potable water in the next 16 hours, otherwise we run the risk of straight up dehydration, which would traditionally be the most likely cause of our death in a survival situation. Of course conventional survivalist dogma does not account for the possibility of being eaten alive by reanimated corpses.” They're sitting next to each other on the couch. Abraham turns and looks at him with a small smile. “What?”

“It's just good to hear you talking again. You've been quiet lately,” says Abraham.

“How...are you?” Eugene returns the question awkwardly. Abraham exhales.

“I'm good,” he says.

“I'm so sorry about Rosita,” Eugene offers, unsure about how to broach the subject.

“It's okay. I'm sure she's fine. She's probably with the group, she's a tough little thing. She's better off away from me anyway.”

“I thought you two were in love,” Eugene says bluntly. Abraham scoffs.

“Nah. She thinks she loves me. She don't. And I don't... she was just there, you know? I was just there. We never really..... Things change. It's not easy to explain. I'm just done. I'm done with women. I'm sure Rosita will find someone to love her. But...it's not me.”

Eugene puzzles over this. He goes over the facts in his head, replaying the scenes from the previous few months, planting red flags where he had not seen them before. He assigns new meanings to the interactions he's observed between the pair. He files it away in his mind, in the ever expanding folder labeled Sgt. Abraham Ford.

“I would very much like to hear your opinion regarding whether we should keep looking the others or start heading north to Washington on our own,” Eugene says, hoping to change the subject. Abraham draws a heavy breath.

“Eugene, we need to stop pretending. It's just you and me now, and I know you don't know shit about a cure. I know you haven't been in contact with Washington. Hell, that radio of yours doesn't even have batteries.” Eugene's head shoots up to look the bigger man in the eye for once, a protest forming on his lips and dying. “I know you were just using me for protection. I'm not mad. I get it.”

“Why have you been dragging my ass around the country if you knew I couldn't save the world?” he asks quietly, his eyes downcast. Abraham smirks.

“Guess I just liked having a mission. Something to do. A reason to keep fighting. Then I saw how it brought people hope. I thought maybe that was a good thing. And I guess I got used to having you around. You would have been dead a long time ago without me. Didn't matter where we were headed. I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if you are a little conceited prick.”

“Given my recent untruths, that is not a totally unfair assessment,” Eugene says, staring down at his hands in his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that Abraham's staring hard at him. His face is red, his eyes big, and he's tensed, as if for a fight. It doesn't make sense and Eugene's brain works overtime to try and figure out exactly what's going on. “You risked your life for me. Why?”

“You seemed happy. I was happy.” Abraham shrugs. “I liked being around you. Liked being the one to protect you. Can't say I'm too cut up that it's just us now. Guess I've had a few realizations about who I am. Who I want to be.” He chuckles. “Like I told ya,” he says, catching Eugene's eyes again, “I'm done with women.”

Then it clicks. Eugene realizes what it all means. The dilated pupils, the flushed skin, the tense posture of the older man. It's arousal. It's arousal coursing through Abraham and the hungry look in his eyes tells Eugene it's all for him. This realization alone is enough to cause a flutter in Eugene's stomach. No one had ever looked at him that way before. Not with that kind of need. Not with that kind of desire.

He calculates. He double checks the evidence and assures himself of his conclusions. He stares into Abraham's eyes and he knows Abraham knows that he knows. Abraham is frozen in place. He's waiting for a sign. He's waiting for a yes or a no, an acceptance or a rejection.

Eugene flounders in his own thoughts. He had never been with a woman, and certainly had never been with a man. If Abraham was a woman there would be no hesitation. It was the end of the world, after all, and they were as likely to be dead tomorrow as not, and he had the same biological urges as any other human. But this required more consideration. He likes Abraham, he respects the man. The thought of being with him sexually doesn't repulse him. Eugene admits to himself there's a certain attractive quality to all those tan muscles.

Desperately trying to find familiar ground, Eugne retreats to the confines of logic to recall everything he's read on the fluidity of gender, the nature of sexuality, and tries to weigh the pros and cons of entering into a homosexual relationship in a survivalistic context.

“You're thinking too much,” barks Abraham impatiently, leaning his face in a little closer to Eugene's. Eugene doesn't flinch or look away, so he pushes it a little further, until their lips brush lightly.

Something in this intimate contact sends a rush of endorphins through Eugene and the neatly ordered columns and rows he's been tallying in his head fade away, replaced by single words like 'good, and 'want,' and 'yes.' Suddenly he's melting into his burly protector, pushing against him and moving his lips messily, sloppily against the other man's. After a moment, Abraham regains his dominance. He's guiding Eugene, and he shows the younger man how to move his lips, how to move their tongues against one another's. Eugene can feel a fire building in himself. He feels his body react, and he can't lie to himself and say it's because he's pretending he's kissing a woman, because this is nothing like kissing a woman. Abraham is all roughness and testosterone, his mustache brushing coarsely against Eugene's stubble.

There is nothing feminine here, Eugene thinks, but a moment later he mewls like a kitten into his partner's mouth and realizes he's wrong. If there's something feminine here, it's him. That in itself is a wonder - that if traditional gender roles could be assigned here, he was the woman. It's not an unwelcome thought, and he imagines himself as a woman, as Abraham's woman, and the notion holds a certain thrill, causing more blood to rush downward.

He reaches up to cup Abraham's face, and Abraham's hand moves behind Eugene's head, finding purchase in his long hair, pushing them together, deepening the kiss.

It all becomes frantic. Abraham is pushing him down onto the couch, his hands moving all over, finding their way under his shirt.

“You're so damn soft,” Abraham mutters, nipping at his jawline, fingers moving along Eugene's side, tracing the curve of his hip. Eugene bites back an apology, wanting to be sorry for the way his body had too much fat and not enough muscle, and that he's not hard and lean like the man above him. A hand grabs playfully at a love handle and Abraham growls, low and deep and full of arousal. “So soft, you feel so good” he says breathlessly, his hands running along Eugene's stomach, over his chest, finding a nipple and pinching it between his fingers. 

Eugene has no idea what to do. Here he has reached the end of his scientific knowledge and he's lost in a sea of guesswork. He doesn't know where to put his hands, he can't predict what's going to happen next. It's terrifying and exhilarating at once. He gives himself over to Abraham. 

“What do I do now?” he asks, wanting desperately to please the other man.

“Take this off,” Abraham demands, pulling up the bottom of Eugene's shirt. Eugene sits up and helps him pull it off. “These too,” he says, fumbling with Eugene's pants. They're working together to strip him bare, to pull off the dirty layers and reveal his pink skin underneath. And then Eugene is naked under him, half-hard and feeling exposed. But Abraham's eyes are appreciative, and lustful, and he buries himself in his neck as fingers wrap around Eugene's cock, and start lightly pumping him. It feels so goddamn good, and Eugene can't help but let out a soft moan as his eyes close and his head falls back against the arm of the couch.

And then Abraham is suddenly gone, and Eugene whimpers in frustration. Abraham laughs from across the small room where he's digging in his pack. “Be right back, love,” he says, and then makes good, settling himself back between Eugene's legs, spreading them out obscenely, one over the back of the couch. “Do you trust me?” he asks, hand once again making sweet motions on his erection, a calloused thumb rubbing circles over the tip.

“With my life,” Eugene answers. Abraham seems to like that answer, and he smiles. He's doing something down there and Eugene doesn't want to ask what, but his question is answered when he feels a slick finger pushing against his asshole. He wants to move away at the contact, but Abraham still has a firm grip on his dick.

“Just relax,” Abraham practically coos. “I've got you.” And Eugene covers his face with his arms, ashamed of what the other man is doing, at where he's being touched. He feels the finger push into him and he does his best to relax but it burns, and he's losing his erection, and his eyes are watering. It's all so fast and rushed, like Abraham's been planning this in his head forever, and can't wait for it to unfold. Eugene wants to keep going. He wants to live up to whatever fantasy Abraham has in his head. 

Eugene takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, letting his body get used to the intrusion. 

Another breath and he whispers “okay.” And he feels the finger start gently moving, probing him deeper. Abraham adds a second finger and he wants to say stop, that he doesn't like this, and then they graze a spot inside him that sends a jolt of pleasure through his entire body. He moans, and the fingers stay on that spot, start putting pressure there, and he's seeing stars, his dick rock hard and leaking, even though it's no longer being touched. The noises he's making are vulgar and embarrassing but he doesn't care. All he wants is this pleasure forever, and he's rocking against Abraham's hand, aching for more, wanting all his body can take. He barely registers that a third finger had been added.

“Please!” he begs, not even sure what he's begging for, except more, more of whatever this is.

Instead he gets less. Abraham withdraws his fingers, and Eugene is left shaking, writhing.

“Turn over for me. Get up on your knees,” commands Abraham.

“No,” Eugene says defiantly. “I want it like this.” In his head he adds “like a woman,” but he doesn't say it. He's not even sure what he's asking, he doesn't know how this all works, if it's even possible, but he can't bear the thought of turning over, of turning away from Abraham. Not now, not when he feels like he's coming undone at the seams, and needs to see his face, his muscled arms, the line of his jaw. The things that anchor him here, to the earth, to safety.

Abraham looks at him curiously, then shrugs and stands up. For a moment Eugene thinks he's done with him, that he's disappointed him or made him mad, but Abraham is pulling out the couch cushion he'd been sitting on. “Scoot down,” he says gently, and Eugene obeys, his bottom at the edge of the middle cushion and Abraham kneeling in the empty space. “Hope you're flexible,” he mutters, undoing his belt buckle and pulling out his own hard length. Eugene hears the lewd sound of Abraham slicking himself up, an briefly wonders what exactly passes for lubricant in a post-apocalyptic world.

Then his legs are being pushed up high, hooked over Abraham's strong shoulders and he feels the other man there at his entrance. 

“Relax, just relax,” says Abraham. But as he eases himself inside, it's not painful, it's not uncomfortable. It's rather nice, and Abraham is already thrusting lightly inside him, and Eugene's eyes are heavy lidded with arousal, and he finds he's breathing hard.

It should be wrong. It shouldn't work this well. It shouldn't work at all. Eugene knows the biology, he knows what parts are supposed to fit together, and well, him and Abraham weren't exactly the ideal set. He knows people do this, he doesn't judge, but he had always thought it was something forced, something improvised and made to work. Not this. Not Abraham moving inside him, making him feel so good, panting over him, their bodies joined like two pieces of a puzzle that fit just right. It didn't make sense. It's not logical and he can't even wrap his mind around how this is possible, how something he would never in a thousand years have dreamed up could feel so damn right and perfect.

“You're thinking again,” chides Abraham. He growls, shifting the angle of his cock so it pushes hard against the other man's prostate, and balancing himself on one arm so he can reach down and wrap his hand around Eugene's cock. Eugene gasps in pleasure.

And then it's all feeling and sensation and stars behind his eyes, and Abraham smirks because he can tell that for once he's shut down that big brain, and reduced the younger man to the panting, writhing body beneath him. Eugene's saying words but they don't make sense. They're just noises and unfinished obscenities, punctuated with gasps of air.

“I'm going to...” Eugene pants, and then he's coming hard, bucking like an animal as he finally finds his release, spurting hot semen all over his own stomach. Abraham isn't far behind, releasing Eugene's softening cock to hold himself up with two arms, pumping faster, his thrusts becoming erratic as he comes deep inside the other man.

Another moment to catch his breath and Abraham withdraws himself slowly, gently lowers Eugene's legs, and stands up to fix his pants and replace the couch cushion. Eugene can't take the sudden separation and instinctually reaches for Abraham. He's holding open his arms like a child, and Abraham obliges, lying back down half on top of him, pressing wet kisses to his temple. “You did so good, love,” Abraham murmurs close to his ear. Eugene's brain is slowly coming back online, and those words alone are enough to quell the doubts that are just starting to form in the back of his mind. 

Abraham cleans Eugene off and helps him get dressed. He stands his rifle against the end of the couch, within easy reach, and sits, gesturing for Eugene to join him. “Lie down,” he commands and Eugene obeys, resting his head on Abraham's thigh as a pillow, and curling up next to him. They hear a moaning sound outside and a scratching at the wall.

“Go to sleep,” Abraham says softly, “I'll protect you.” And Eugene closes his eyes, feeling Abraham's rough fingers carding through the long hair at the base of his skull, and he knows that it's true.


End file.
